


When It's Done.

by captnalbatr0ss



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-27 06:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7607917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate decides to visit Flynn before he heads to Panama.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this story, Sam Drake and Harry Flynn are best mates, and Flynn's known the Drakes for years now.  
> Nate decides to visit Flynn before he heads to Panama.

* * *

 

Harry stumbled into his flat, feeling blindly in the dark for the hook for his keys, missing the mark and wincing as they hit the floor, making a mental note to give a shit later.

It was late. Harry was tired. One wheel of his luggage caught on the threshold, nearly tripped him up, and he cursed under his breath, heaving the thing in and kicking it to the side, shutting the door with his foot, fumbling with the lock.

He left his luggage by the door, making a beeline for his bedroom, his bed. He left a trail of clothes in his wake—first his shoes, then his shirt, then his jeans. 

His eyes were already closing as he fell into bed, but when he felt a solid form, warm skin, instead of just sheets, he let out a sharp curse and tumbled off the mattress.

He hit the floor, was already reaching into the cubby of his nightstand, knowing exactly where to grab for his gun.

He cocked it, aimed it as the light beside his bed turned on. He saw dark hair, a familiar set of eyes watching him, surprised. He lowered the gun, fell back against the floor.

“Jesus  _fucking_  Christ, Nate. You nearly gave me a sodding heart attack!”

Nathan, for his part, looked apologetic. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“Finished early, so I— Wait, but how did you get in here, though, mate?”

Nathan lifted a shoulder. “Sam’s got a key.”

Harry finally sat up, then stood up, groaning. He noticed that Nathan’s eyes fixated on his bare chest, also noticed the color that came to his cheeks.

“Ah, so he’s in here too, then, is he? Bloody miracle I didn’t trip over him, too, is it? You in here, Sammy boy?”

Harry was already looking around for Sam, but then he noticed Nathan hadn’t said anything.

Harry furrowed his brow, his attention back on Nathan. 

“No, Sam’s…” Nathan frowned. “Busy.”

“Busy?” Harry raised a brow.

He sat on the edge of the bed. Closer to Nathan, it struck him how young he looked. 

“He’s found this guy—some rich asshole. Acts like we need him to find Avery.”

Harry found the appeal of the mattress too much to resist, laying down and rubbing a hand over his face. “I take it you don’t like this bloke?”

Nathan scooted over to give Harry more room, on his side with his head propped up on his hand. “No. I mean, I’ve only met him once, but he seems like a real prick.”

Harry raised his arm slightly, away from his eyes enough to look at Nathan, flashing a big grin. “Right, but you used to think the same thing about me when we first met, though, or don’t you remember?”

Nathan offered a small half smile, relaxing a little. “What do you mean ‘used to’?”

Harry clapped a hand over his chest, as if injured. “That’s just cruel, love.”

Nathan chuckled. “Anyway, we both flew out to his place three weeks ago—Flynn, you should see it. It’s like… Remember that estate from a couple years ago? The one with the weird hedge animals?”

“How could I ever forget?” Harry cracked a smile.

Nathan laughed, and Harry did his best to ignore the flash of heat in his chest.

“Well it’s like that, minus the hedge animals. Huge. Real showy. I couldn’t stand it. But Sam says it’s important, and he was planning to stay for awhile, get this guy really up to speed. No way in hell was I gonna suffer through all that, so I…maybe lifted your key.”

Harry leaned up slightly, adjusting his pillow. “Ah, then he doesn’t know you’re here.”

Nathan dropped his gaze, a little embarrassed. “I told him I was gonna stay with Sully. And I did—for a little bit.”

Harry frowned, conflicted. He was glad to see Nathan—he was always glad to see Nathan. But he wasn’t wholly comfortable with the idea that Nathan was sneaking around with him, or to him, or however that would shake out. And having Nathan here, alone, in his bed—

_No. Nope. Lay off it, mate, don’t even think about it._

Sam would kick Harry’s ass six ways from Sunday for fooling around with his little brother, best mate or not. Harry was sure of it.

Still, Harry couldn’t help but notice Nathan in a similar state of undress—a tee shirt, and pajama bottoms—pants. Nathan always did get cold easier than Harry.

Nathan sighed. “Look, if—”

Harry glanced up, focus back on Nathan, watching his face.

“I know I sorta put you in a spot. I can go if—”

“No,” Harry interrupted quickly, maybe a little too quickly.

He sat up, scooted back to lean against the headboard. Rubbed the nape of his neck.

“I’m, ah… I’m glad you’re here, mate. It’s good to see a friendly face after that last shit-show.”

Nathan frowned. “Bad job?”

Harry lifted a shoulder. “You could say that, I suppose.”

Nathan scooted closer, hugging his knees and facing Harry. He opened his mouth, Harry heard the beginning of a thought, but then he fell silent again.

“Hey.” Harry nudged Nathan’s leg with his elbow. “You alright, love?”

Nathan sighed. “It’s just… It’s always been me and Sam. On the Avery thing. I guess I’m just…” He pursed his lips, frowned deeper. “Did Sam ever ask you about it? About teaming up, I mean.”

Harry smiled warmly at Nathan. “Ah, love.” He reached out, placed a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “You’re a dear to ask, but sadly, no. I mean,” he paused, cleared his throat. “Yes, he’s asked me before, but no—”

“Come on, Flynn. Seriously, it should be you. Not this other guy. You’ve known us for—for years now. We work well together. Sam and me, we trust you.”

“Nate, I haven’t the money for it, not to spare. Sam ran some numbers by me, and I just don’t have that kind, mate.”

“But you could—”

“What’re you not telling me?”

Nathan fell silent, stared at his hands. Harry waited, patient. 

“I don’t know if I should.” Almost under his breath, almost like Nathan was talking more to himself than to Harry.

“Nate, c’mon. It’s me.” He frowned when Nathan ducked his head lower, closed his eyes. “Hey…”

“I think we’re getting closer.”

Harry’s heart skidded, skipped, slammed. His throat felt tight. “Wh…What do you mean?” 

_Christ, that sounded bloody pathetic. Cheers, ya git. And what happened to ‘don’t even think about it’? Not a good idea._

“To getting to Panama. Sam says this guy’s got a contact lined up, if the meet goes well, we could be leaving in a couple weeks. Maybe less.”

_Right. We’re getting close; they are. Them. Close to landing in prison, on purpose. Right._

Harry forced a smile. “Well that’s good, though, innit?”

“Sure. I mean, yeah. I just thought—” Nathan ran a hand through his hair, rubbed his neck, his shoulder, fidgeting. “We keep talking about getting together, and jobs keep putting it off, and now if we do this, there’s no telling how long we’ll be gone because there’s no telling what we’ll find in Panama, and I…That’s why I had to come see you. Because every time I think I will, and can, I…”

Nathan trailed off, and Harry belatedly noticed that Nathan’s eyes kept gravitating towards his bare chest, his lips. Harry felt the beginnings of a shiver with the way Nathan was eyeing him.

“I don’t know if I should,” he said again, still a whisper—his eyes were locked on Harry’s, and Harry saw something there that he’d not seen before.

He swallowed hard, held his breath when Nathan started to lean closer.

“Harry…”

His name, his first name on Nathan’s lips, set his head to spinning. A struggle. 

Nathan—Nate. His best friend’s little brother.  _Not a good idea, not a good idea._ Nathan, who was wetting his lips, inches away from pressing them against Harry’s.  _Not a good idea._  Nathan, his hand on Harry’s chest, the touch sending a spike of energy straight to Harry’s core.  _Not a good idea. Not a good—_

Nathan’s lips were against his, and thought stopped. Harry’s eyes closed, his mouth opened, groaning at how tentative Nathan’s tongue was, and his hands. It was all he could do to hold back, but he calmed himself, let Nathan set the pace.

The mattress creaked as Nathan closed the distance between them, and when Harry felt the younger man press against him, he reached out, wrapped his arms around Nathan’s waist and pulled him closer.

All of Nathan’s movements were slow—a shift, a pause, a touch.

His hands hovered over Harry’s chest, his abs, still for a moment and then they touched down, feather light. Harry moaned, and Nathan’s hands grew slightly bolder. Harry’s muscles tightened, quivered as Nathan’s hands roamed.

Harry heard a soft whining, realized it came from Nathan, and his heart swelled.

_God, but I wanted this—I’ve wanted this so much._

He let his fingers dance up and down Nathan’s back, and then slightly lower, he slipped them under Nathan’s shirt, moaned as he felt Nathan practically melt against him.

“Harry.”

Harry was smitten. He rolled them, stretched himself half on top of Nathan, bracing himself on one elbow, leaving his other hand free to trail through Nathan’s dark hair, softly stroke his chest, his stomach. He growled when Nathan lifted his hips, and it was equal parts due to the delicious friction and to the way Nathan’s eyelids fluttered at the sensation—their hips flush against each other, only two thin layers of material between them.

“ _Jesus_ , Nathan,” Harry gasped, leaning down and capturing Nathan’s mouth again.

He felt Nathan’s arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him insistently closer, and he eagerly complied, moving fully over the younger man, and it was his turn to whimper when Nathan bent his legs, made room between them for Harry’s hips.

Nathan’s hands wandered lower, his thumbs hooked under the waistband of Harry’s boxers—he paused, held his breath, timid again.

Harry pulled back just enough, found Nathan’s eyes. “If you’re not sure—If…you’re not ready…” He furrowed his brow, he finished off his thought by pressing a chaste kiss to Nathan’s lips.

“No, I want to—I’ve wanted to. I…” He searched Harry’s face, blushing. “I think about it all the time. I think about you…all the time…”

Harry closed his eyes, dropped his head to Nathan’s shoulder, kissing his neck gently, affectionately.

“I think about you, too, darling.” A whisper against soft skin, warm skin.

“Harry… Please?”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, his heart skipped a beat.

“Anything you want, love. Name it.”

“You. I want you.”

“And you have me,” Harry sighed, brushing his lips against Nathan’s again, and this time Nathan opened for him readily.

He rose up on his knees, pulling Nathan gently until he was sitting up, carefully tugging Nathan’s shirt up, off. Nathan took advantage of his position—Harry on his knees in front of him—and timidly pushed Harry’s boxers down, his eyes wide.

Harry couldn’t help himself. “See something you like, love?”

But Nathan didn’t look up, didn’t chuckle. He was reaching out, so slow, until his fingertips met Harry’s cock, and suddenly Harry couldn’t think of a single thing to say. His eyes shut, his mouth opened as Nathan tentatively wrapped his fingers around the shaft, gave it a few experimental strokes.

“Nate—Nathan,  _Jesus_ —”

Nathan ran his thumb over the head and Harry’s eyes went dark.

“Listen, darling, much as I’d love to watch you choke on my cock, I think it’s— _Ah_!  _Bloody hell_ —N…Nathan,  _fuck_ —”

Nathan didn’t seem to be listening, his focus was elsewhere, and his eyes closed as his tongue carefully circled the sensitive tip, lapping at the slit.

Harry reached out, braced himself with a hand on the wall, bowing his head.

He felt Nathan open wider, felt more of himself in Nathan’s mouth, and he groaned, dropped a hand to Nathan’s hair, tugging him back gently.

“Lie back, love.”

Nathan watched Harry quietly for a minute, and Harry’s fingers twitched when Nathan licked his lips. But then he did as Harry asked, and Harry took a moment to drink in the sight.

Nathan’s pupils were blown, eyelids heavy. His lips slightly swollen, wet. His chest rose, fell, faster than usual. His cock strained against the loose material of his pants, and Harry turned his attention to removing them. He stretched the waistband, brushing his fingers against the sensitive skin there before pulling them down, keeping his eyes on Nathan’s face the whole time.

Nathan’s head tipped back, he lifted his hips to accommodate Harry, and when Harry’s hand found his cock, gripped it tight, he cried out.

“Mmm. Even better than I imagined,” Harry sighed, lazily pumping his fist, watching Nathan’s body arch, writhe. “Christ, but you’re beautiful.”

“Oh—Ohhh Harry,  _please_. Please.”

Harry stilled his hand, with great restraint, laying down next to Nate, one hand slowly memorizing the lines of his chest.

“Have you done this before?”

“Just with women. I mean, just sex with women,” Nathan replied, biting his lip. 

“Mm, but other things with men?” Harry let his palm brush across Nathan’s nipples, relishing in Nathan’s sharp gasp.

“Ah! —um, just…” Nathan blushed.

Harry pressed a kiss to each pink cheek, and then his forehead. “I’ll go slow. Turn over, sweetheart.”

Nathan rolled onto his stomach and Harry situated himself accordingly, letting his hands explore Nathan’s ass. He closed his eyes, bestowing a few open mouthed kisses, a nibble or two.

“Come on, open up for me, Nathan.” His hands on Nathan’s thighs, gently urging them apart.

Nathan shifted his legs and Harry groaned, sliding his hands up, fingertips digging in, spreading Nathan more. 

Nathan’s brow furrowed, his hands curled into fists around the bedsheets as Harry brushed a finger across his hole.

“Mmm. That’s it. Relax. Relax…”

Harry leaned away for a moment, fished around in his nightstand drawer, pulled out the lube. He coated his fingers, used his thumb to apply some to Nathan’s hole as well.

“Harry!—”

“Shh, darling, I’ve got you.” He took a moment to kiss Nathan sweetly, calm him a bit before he moved lower again. 

He rubbed Nathan’s back slowly, wanting him as relaxed as possible. He took his time, easing one finger in to the first knuckle, then the second.

“Oh—” Nathan was holding his breath again, and Harry held his finger still.

“Breathe, sweetheart. C’mon then.” 

Nathan sucked in a slow, greedy lungful, expelled it even slower. 

“Good, that’s good. You’re wonderful, darling, simply wonderful.”

Harry began to stretch Nathan, carefully, in no hurry. He kept his eyes on Nathan’s face, watching for any indication he should slow down. By the time he added a second finger, Nathan was breathing deep again, relaxed, and when Harry began to crook his fingers, seeking out Nathan’s prostate, he had the younger man mewling. 

“Beautiful,” Harry whispered again, ducking down, removing his fingers slowly.

His lips twitched up, a wolfish grin, in response to the whimper of surprise Nathan uttered when Harry began to tongue him slowly.

“Harry, oh my god— _oh my god_ …”

“Do you like that, love?” Harry’s voice was muffled between Nathan’s cheeks, and when his tongue pushed in again, he felt Nathan’s hips pushing back. 

“Please—please, please, Harry, I need— _ah_! Shit.  _Shit_!”

“Patience, pet. One more.” And Harry’s fingers were back again, the first, the second, and then he carefully added a third, seeking out that spot again, heart tripping over itself as Nathan moaned his name.

“Nathan.” Harry groaned. “How close are you?”

“Wh—huh? I’m— _Fuck_!”

Harry pulled Nathan’s hip back slightly, reached around to palm his cock, growling when he saw the wet patch on the sheets. “Nathan… Will you come for me?”

Nathan’s body trembled as Harry’s fingers pushed deeper, as he began to jerk Nathan off steadily.

“B—but…ohhh _fuck_ Harry— You haven’t—We haven’t—”

“Oh darling, there’ll be time enough for that. Come on, let me watch you come undone.”

Nathan’s eyes shut tight, uttering a series of desperate pleas, soft curses, and then Harry tightened his grip, shifted his fingers just right to draw up a choked sob, a strangled cry. He watched Nathan’s muscles tighten, quiver, then relax, felt warm, sticky come on his hands, saw it hit the mattress.

“Nathan…”

The younger man relaxed, let go and slumped fully against the bed again, gasping.

“Harry?”

Harry sat back, caught Nathan’s eyes as he licked each finger clean, one at a time.

“Nathan, you taste sublime.”

He grinned as the color rushed to Nathan’s cheeks, and the younger man hid his face against Harry’s pillow briefly, then looked back, his eyes moving between Harry’s eyes and his lips.

“Come here?”

Harry chuckled. He could tell Nathan had intended it to sound like a demand, but the hitch in his voice at the end gave him away. 

He was a mess.

“Yes, darling.”

Nathan strained toward him, sighing when their lips met again, and Harry captured Nathan’s bottom lip between his teeth, tugging lightly as he pulled back.

“Remember what I said about breathing.”

Nathan nodded quickly, fidgeting beneath Harry. “Come on, Harry, please.”

Harry coated his hand in lube, gripped his cock firmly, pumped a few times, pressed the head against Nathan, cursing softly when he felt Nathan shift back to meet him.

“Oh Nathan…” He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to watch as he urged his hips forward just enough, slid the head of his cock in, but then his eyes were rolling.

“Mmn… Fuuuck.”

“Breathe. Breathe, love.” 

And this time Harry was talking to himself as much as Nathan, but when Nathan reached back, groping helplessly against his thigh, fingertips clutching desperately, Harry found he couldn’t catch his breath at all.

“More.” Nathan's voice was little more than a high whine.

Harry pushed forward slowly, slowly, until he was buried to the hilt in Nathan, trembling with the effort to control himself.

“Jesus  _fucking_  Christ, Nathan. You’re so fucking  _tight_.”

“Never— _Ah_! …Never done this before, remember?”

“Ah, fuck— _fuck_. I  _can’t_. I can’t.” Harry pressed his chest against Nathan’s back, pulling almost all the way out before sinking in again. “ _God_ —”

Nathan dissolved—a trembling mess, unintelligible words, desperate sighs.

Harry pressed his lips to Nathan’s nape, breathing hard as he found a slow, deep pace, muffling his own moans against Nathan’s shoulder. He slipped his arms around Nathan’s chest, enjoying the pressure of Nathan’s weight against them as he rocked his hips slightly faster.

“Harry!”

Harry leaned closer, pressing his lips to Nathan’s ear. “Is that the spot, then?”

He closed his eyes again, concentrated on the angle of his hips, the depth of each thrust, his brow knit in concentration as he sought that spot again.

_“Y—YES!”_

“Brilliant.”

Harry felt the heat building low, deep, and knew he wouldn’t last much longer—not with Nathan contracting around him that way, not with his hips trying to push back harder, not if he kept making those delicious sounds.

“Gonna come for me again, love?” Harry shifted one arm lower, seeking, finding Nathan’s cock again, hard and weeping, still sticky from the first orgasm.

“God yes—Harry, yes yes  _yes_ —”

“That’s it. That’s it—Nathan,  _fucking hell_.”

He fisted Nathan roughly, bucked his hips harder. He felt Nathan struggle, suffering with the urge to thrust forward into Harry’s hand, to push backwards against his cock. He pressed his palms to the mattress, spread his fingers, then drew them in, his knuckles white as Harry pounded that spot again, again, again. 

Relentless.

His toes curled, his eyes went wide as Harry brought him up, over, unraveled him. A sound he’d never made before, a sob, a moan, an animalistic cry. He practically convulsed, and still Harry persisted, drawing out his orgasm, riding through it with him until the younger man stilled beneath him.

Harry dropped his forehead to Nathan’s back, between his shoulder blades. One, two, and a third thrust and he buried himself deep, emptying himself inside of Nathan, collapsing on top of him.

Breathless.

Harry blinked, struggling to focus. Finally, he pushed himself up, mouth practically watering as he looked down at Nathan, sprawled on the mattress, skin flushed, come on the mattress, come between his thighs.

Harry stood on shaky legs, tottered his way to the bathroom, grabbing a clean towel. He returned, towel in hand, saw Nathan watching him. He flashed his most winning smile, already wiping himself off.

“Hey.” Nathan closed his eyes again, grinning.

“Hey yourself,” Harry replied, kneeling by Nathan, gently cleaning him up. “Turn over, darling.”

“Mmmm, I don’t think I can.”

Harry chuckled, carefully rolling Nathan over. “Helpless, are we now?”

“Helpless,” Nathan agreed.

Harry finished up with the towel, tossing it carelessly in the direction of his bathroom. He turned the bedside lamp off, sighed as his back hit the mattress. He’d never felt quite so relaxed.

Nathan moved closer, pressed against him, fitting easily.

“Harry?”

“Mmm.”

“Harry?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Turn the light off?”

“I did.”

Nathan frowned, opened one eye. “Is that… Is it morning?”

Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes, blinking at his window. “Bloody hell.”

“Well, you did get home pretty late…”

“Mmm.” Harry shook his head. “Shall I draw the curtains, then?”

Nathan pressed closer, threw and arm over Harry’s chest. “Nope.”

Harry tangled his fingers with Nathan’s, began to drift. He quite liked the idea of falling asleep next to Nathan, of waking up next to him, too.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the shrill sound of Nathan’s phone.

“Nooo,” Nathan groaned, but he started to pull away.

“Don’t answer it,” Harry insisted, his grip on Nathan tightening. “Don’t.”

Nathan settled back against Harry’s chest, kissing Harry softly. “Mm, no?”

“No.” Harry let the tip of his tongue trace Nathan’s bottom lip, coaxing him, deepening their kiss.

The phone stopped ringing, and Harry relaxed, pulling Nathan closer.

But then it rang again.

“Shit.” Nathan persisted this time when Harry tried to keep him in bed. “Harry, I gotta get it.”

“Tell whoever it is to sod off. You’re trying to get some sleep after being well and truly shagged.”

“Oh shit.”

“What?”

“It’s Sam.”

Harry suddenly wasn’t sleepy anymore. “Oh shit.” He sat up, exchanged a look of extreme discomfort with the younger man.

Nathan turned away, answering the phone. “Hello?”

He almost tripped on his pants, awkwardly struggled to get them back on with one hand.

“Sam, hey, what’s— Wait, what? Slow down.” He paused, one leg in, one leg out of his pants. “When? Oh, ah… No, yeah, I can—” His shoulders slumped, he shuffled backwards, sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, halfheartedly tugging his pants on the rest of the way. 

“Ah…” He leaned toward the nightstand, grabbed his watch to check the time, closed his eyes as he calculated the time difference and Harry heard him whisper ‘ _shit_ ’. “Yeah. Of course I’m excited. I’m—What? Okay. Uh-huh. See you soon.”

He hung up, frowning.

Harry sighed. “Let me guess—”

“I gotta go. With the time difference, if I don’t go now, it’ll look suspicious. Way longer to get back to New York from here than from Sully’s. Sam says things are moving faster than they thought with Panama, the guy Rafe found,” he paused. “Rafe. It just sounds pretentious, doesn’t it? Anyway, the guy he found, Sam says he might be getting cold feet so they’re pushing to move things up before he can change his mind. I have to get back, just in case. Hey, can I…hop in the shower real quick?”

“Of course, don’t be silly. You don’t need my permission for that.” Harry offered a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “And that’s… That’s good. I know you’ve been waiting for this for years.”

Nathan lifted a shoulder, crawling back onto the bed long enough to steal another kiss. “I’ve been waiting for this for years, too.”

Harry made a soft sound, slipping his hand behind Nathan’s neck, holding him there a moment longer, reluctant to let him go.

Nathan pulled back finally, disappearing into the bathroom.

Harry slumped back against the headboard, groaning. 

His phone rang.

“Oh, fuck all.”

He stood again, stumbled to front door, digging in his luggage until he found his phone.

“Oy—” 

He heard Sam’s voice on the other end. Pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened, listening as Sam told him more or less what Nathan just had. He could hear the excitement in Sam’s voice, and he did his best to share at least a bit of that enthusiasm. 

“That’s great, mate. Think you’ll be there long, then?” 

He rummaged in his cabinet, pulled out some coffee. Absentmindedly scooped some into his coffee maker, started brewing a pot. 

“Is, ah…Is Nathan going with you?” He broached the subject hesitantly. “But does he—I mean, does he really need to? You’ve got whatshisface, right? The wealthy blighter. Thought you were about keeping your little brother out of prison, mate.”

_It’s worth a try._

“Right. Right, well. Best o’ luck, then.” He turned as Nathan emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips. He kept his eyes on Nathan’s, lost in them, and it took Sam asking if he was still there twice before he came back to himself. “Yeah, no, I’m here. Just been…a long day. Alright.” 

And, as he always added, “Give Nathan all my love, mate.” A pang of guilt, a forced laugh. “No, no, you go fuck yourself, ya tosser.”

He hung up, crossing the room, taking Nathan in his arms again.

“Stay.”

Nathan furrowed his brow, surprised. “What?”

“Don’t go, Nathan. Stay.” He frowned, sighed when Nathan didn’t reply, finally releasing him again. “I…I know you won’t. But I wish you would. Coffee’ll be ready in a tick.”

Harry showered and dressed in a hurry, half expecting Nathan to be gone when he got out. But there he was, dressed again, handsome as fucking ever, lingering near the door with his suitcase, sipping a cup of coffee.

Nathan smiled when he saw Harry, finishing the rest in one gulp and setting the cup aside. Harry headed his direction, Nathan met him halfway.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Mm.” Harry wrapped his arms around Nathan’s waist. He pressed a kiss to Nathan’s jaw, holding him close. “Sure you won’t stay? Sam won’t mind—just tell him you let me get a leg over, he’ll disown you completely.”

Nathan laughed, but it was strained.

“Ah, so you know I’m right.” Harry gave Nathan a firm squeeze, then released him.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I wish I could stay, but…”

“I know. Greatness from small beginnings, and all that rubbish.” 

But he smiled, and Nathan did, too.

“Exactly. Ah…Thanks. For…”

Harry saw Nate’s eyes dart toward the bed, which remained in total disarray. He thought to say something clever, something smart, but suddenly he didn’t want to.

Instead, “Be careful, darling.”

“Always am,” Nathan replied, grabbing his suitcase again.

Harry opened the door for him, leaned against the door frame after Nathan passed through.

Nathan got a few steps away before Harry reached out, grabbed his arm, tugging him back for one more deep kiss, his hands framing Nathan’s face. He felt Nathan relax against him, into him, and Harry felt a peculiar ache in his chest.

“Come back to me when it’s done.”

They never said goodbye—it was unspoken that it wasn’t necessary, and that it felt like bad luck. Harry stood in his open doorway, and he waited until Nathan disappeared from sight. And then he waited a little longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some jobs go fast, some go slow, and some go sideways. | Things didn’t go quite like they were supposed to in Panama, and someone’s got to break the news to Harry.

* * *

It was raining again—a steady, heavy sound against the panes of Harry’s windows. 

His flat was dark, dimmed by the low, gray clouds. He’d opened all the blinds, turned off the lights. It was the middle of the day, but it looked later than it was, and Harry was feeling melancholy.

The rain didn’t make it better, didn’t make it worse. It just enabled.

He forced himself up, lifting off the sofa with a grunt. He knew he should eat something, but he wasn’t hungry. He opened the fridge, peered in. The contents were meager, to say the least, and in no way appealing, so Harry settled on another beer instead. He smiled as he grabbed a bottle—it wasn’t his usual stuff. It had been in his fridge since Nathan had last visited, one of his favorites from the States. 

Harry stood for a moment, stuck in indecision, before he finally gave up and returned to the couch. He stared out at the blurry gray—the haze, and the rain. It felt like peering down inside himself. 

 _Nathan_.

Harry shifted sideways, long legs stretched across the length of the sofa, one arm tucked behind his head as he nursed his beer. He found himself staring absently at the space between himself and his bed, at the empty air. He let his eyes focus on the bed, its sheets still rumpled from the night before.

Messy, yes. But not nearly the sight it had been a few short weeks ago. Harry remembered it in vivid detail—practically as unmade as Nathan had been with Harry behind him, buried inside him, their bodies joined in a pace that was slow, but heavy. Nathan, fisting the bedsheets, brows furrowed, lips drawn back in concentrated pleasure. Nathan, at the mercy of Harry’s hands—long fingers. His mouth, hot and hungry. And the bed, one corner of the fitted sheet pulled loose, the comforter in a heap on the floor.

A familiar longing settled like a stone in the pit of his stomach as he thought of those eyes, those lips, that smile. Harry closed his eyes, trying to focus on something else, something that didn’t make him ache, but instead he recalled the sensation of weight shifting on the mattress as Nathan closed the distance, as they moved together. And how much warmer his bed had seemed with Nathan in it.

He’d heard nothing since they’d landed in Panama, not from Nathan or from Sam. No news. But that wasn’t uncommon, not for either of them. It was understood—jobs were unpredictable. Some went fast, some went slow, and some went sideways.

Harry wasn’t worried, not really—Sam and Nathan were far from green, and perfectly capable. They’d been in more dangerous situations. Besides, Sam had told him a bit about the plan, and it sounded straightforward enough. Just another job, really—and made simpler with money. A bit of green slipped into the right palm, smoothing rough patches like oil. 

Oh yes, money talks. Harry thought of the last time Nathan had visited—

 _Did Sam ever ask you about it? About teaming up, I mean._ _Come on, Flynn. Seriously, it should be you. Not this other guy._

 _God, but I wish it could’ve been, darling._  But Harry didn’t have that kind of money.

Rafe Adler. Harry knew next to nothing about the man, only that Sam had described him as less of a partner, more as a man with deep pockets.

 

> _“More like a sponsor, really. Least that’s what I gotta keep tellin’ Nathan, anyways. He’s not gonna be happy when he finds out Rafe’s coming to Panama, too.”_
> 
> _“Ah, a sponsor? Sammy, we both know sponsors don’t climb down from their bloody pedestals to get their hands dirty with the common folk, mate.”_
> 
> _“Ay, lookit—I already got Nathan givin’ me hell for it, I don’t need this from you, too. He’s not that bad. Besides, we’ve made more progress with him in a couple of months than me and Nathan have our whole lives. We just gotta get through this Panama thing, and then he’ll see. And you will, too.”_

But Sam was smart, he knew what he was doing. Harry trusted that—trusted Sam, and until he settled on whether or not he trusted Rafe, Sam would have to be enough.

Harry slid further down on his sofa, palms on his eyes, pressing hard. A soft but persistent pain behind his eyes, stemming from too little sleep, too little food. Too much beer, too many cigarettes. He told himself he wasn’t worried, and he hid that itch, that anxiety far back, far away. But it manifested itself in other ways. His lack of appetite. Twice as many smokes as usual.

It was dark, getting darker—still not that late, but the rain was falling harder, beating down, relentless—and Harry had almost decided to pop a few sleeping pills and sleep until his headache went away when he heard his phone ring.

He felt his heart lurch at the sound— _don’t get your hopes up, don’t, face it mate it’s probably not him_ —and he was up off the sofa, snatching his phone off the kitchen counter in half a heartbeat. 

_Oh, but please be him—_

“You’ve got Flynn,” he said quickly, holding his breath, eyes squeezed shut as he waited for a reply.

“Harry?”

Harry heart stuttered, and his voice with it. “N-Nathan, is—is it you, love?”

“Yeah.”

Harry choked back a soft sound, his legs shook, threatened to cave, and he took a few large steps backward until he felt the coffee table behind him and sat there promptly. He tightened his grip on the phone, pressed one palm hard against his thigh to still his shaking hands. He was a bit surprised at how overwhelming his relief was.

“Nathan. It’s good to hear your voice, darlin’. How are—”

“Harry…”

Harry felt the relief receding, the worry quickly flooding back. The tone of Nathan’s voice, he didn’t like it at all. It was too soft, it wasn’t Nathan. It was…

_Oh no. Oh no—_

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

“I don’t—I can’t… I—”

“Nathan. Nate. Come on, love, talk to me. Are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

There was a long pause, too long. Harry heard Nathan breathing— Heavy. Unsteady.

And then, finally, his voice tight, gruff, Nathan started saying things that Harry couldn’t understand, wouldn’t believe.

“It’s—it’s Sam. Sam.”

“What about him, Nate, what about Sam?”  
  
_Sam—_

“He’s…oh Harry, I left him there. I  _left_  him, what was I supposed to do? There was nothing I could— I—”

Harry frowned, not sure quite what Nathan was trying to say. “Wait, Sammy’s still in Panama?” 

_Something went wrong. Something must’ve gone wrong._

“No. I mean, yes. I—he’s—” Nathan fell silent again, and once more Harry heard his breath, this time coming faster, and still shaky.

“Please. Nathan,  _please_.”

“Sam’s gone. He— We were running, we were all running, and then he… He got shot, and I couldn’t— I couldn’t pull him up, I couldn’t  _save_  him. I couldn’t—”  
  
Gone? No, that can’t be. No no no.  
  
Harry had so many questions, but Nathan had so little he could say, so little because each time he tried his voice trembled, and broke, and so finally Harry stopped asking—instead, he begged Nathan to tell him where he was.

“Are you home, darling, in the States? Where are you?”

There was a long pause on Nathan’s end, and Harry was just about to repeat his question, when—

“I’m in Scotland.”

“Scotland, wh—”

“It’s a long story.”

“Where.  _Where_  in Scotland, love.” Harry was grabbing for a scrap of paper, a pen. Ready. 

“We found the cross. St. Dismas—we had to go to Scotland. Sam—Sam figured it out. Figure out where we—where…where Rafe and I had to go next.”  
  
Rafe. So the so-called sponsor had made it out alive, while Sam—

_No, mate. Don’t. Not now, no time now. You feel that shite later, Flynn, later and not now._

“Listen, mate—”

“I gotta go. I just…I just thought you should—somebody needed to tell you.”

“Nathan, wait—”

Harry heard the click, heard the line disconnect. And Nathan had never felt farther away.

He glanced down at the notes he’d made. Scotland. A cross. St. Dismas. None of it made sense to Harry. Nathan hadn’t exactly been in the clearest state of mind. But it was a start, and Harry was no stranger to research.

It didn’t take him long to accumulate information, narrow down where he thought Nathan might be. No specific mention of a cross, not that he found. But a cathedral in Scotland, that definitely matched up. And one article mentioned that the grounds had just been bought by a wealthy American—it had to be Rafe. 

He had to be there—Nathan in Scotland, with Rafe, the wealthy bloke, grasping at straws in a cathedral near the Scottish coast.

In Scotland, with a near-stranger who had no real empathy for how much Nathan had lost because he didn't even have a real concept of how little Nathan had to begin with.

 _That’s just bloody brilliant._  
  
Harry had packed a bag, booked a flight without hesitation. He felt a sharp, strong sense of responsibility. Sam, gone, and Nathan with no one to look after him.

He hardly remembered the drive to the airport. He ran on instinct alone, like muscle memory. His mind couldn’t shoulder more. He went through the motions; arriving, waiting, boarding the plane.

He slept on the flight—he always slept on planes. But this time he didn’t rest.

 

* * *

 

The grounds of the cathedral were much bigger than Harry’d expected, and quite beautiful. Another time, perhaps, he would’ve taken the time to appreciate it. But this time, Harry was focused on finding Nathan. 

He spotted the makeshift living quarters right away. They stood out like a sore thumb against the picturesque countryside.

Two large trailers, set up parallel to each other. They sat a safe distance back from the cathedral, which Harry presumed was an excavation precaution.

Harry approached slowly, cautiously. He didn’t draw his gun, but he kept a hand near it, hovering, ready. 

As he neared the trailers, he wondered how to go about determining which was Nathan’s. He immediately noticed windows, but they were too high to peer in easily. An option, but Harry hoped he could do better. He had no doubt that he could pick the lock, which might be a safe bet, assuming he could determine that they were presently unoccupied.

He was gearing up for the pick, cracking his knuckles, when the door on the left trailer opened, and Harry saw that familiar shape and he stopped short, frozen.

_Nathan—_

Nathan’s back was to him as he pulled the door shut, and when he turned, a look of utter surprise appeared on his face when he saw Harry. The fatigue on his features, the redness of his eyes, the despondent droop of his shoulders was enough to break Harry’s heart all over again.

“—Harry?” Nathan’s voice was soft, almost breathless, as if he expected the older man to vanish right before his eyes.

For a moment, they were both rooted where they stood, and it almost seemed as if one step in the wrong direction would destroy the moment. Like waking from a dream.

Harry hadn’t expected to feel such a tightness in his chest, or the sting of tears in his eyes. His lips twitched up a fraction, a sad smile as he saw his own emotions reflected back a hundred fold in Nathan’s eyes.

“Hello, darling,” he said, and his voice cracked, and his hands shook, and it wasn’t right that Sam wasn’t there, and it wasn’t right that he never would be again.

No more words were needed. In an instant Nathan was in his arms, and Harry’s eyes closed as he folded himself around Nathan, over him, careful, aching as he felt Nathan’s face press against his chest, as he felt the heat of his tears and the quiver of his body. Nathan seemed so small in his arms, fragile.

“Oh Nathan,” he whispered, and he pulled Nathan closer, realized that he was crying, too.

Nathan didn’t speak, couldn’t speak. He took fistfuls of Harry’s jacket in his hands, held on, and Harry bent forward slightly, resting his forehead on Nathan’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed together.

Nathan led him to his trailer, pulled him inside, refusing to let go. Harry didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to help, and when Nathan tugged him down onto the bed, Harry let him, and when Nathan curled against him, clutching his shirt, Harry let him.

And when Nathan began to sob, when all that fell from his mouth was, “Sam. Sam. Sam,” and again, and again, Harry let him do that, too.

There was nothing else he could do.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen—he felt a numb sort of guilt, regret, knowing that he should’ve stilled the younger man’s hands, but Nathan sought out Harry’s mouth, the only comfort he’d had since Sam had slipped away. And Nathan’s lips tasted even better than he’d remembered.

Harry didn’t stand a chance. 

A few soft words—“Harry. I can’t believe you’re here.” 

And then, “ _please_.”

And the heartbreaking way that Nathan just seemed desperate to be close to him, as close as he could get, like he just wanted to forget, even for a moment. 

No, Harry hadn’t meant for this—he’d found himself wondering what their second encounter would be like almost immediately following the first. Each night he summoned up the memories, as vivid as he was able. The sounds Nathan made as he rocked back against first Harry’s fingers, and then his cock—the way his brows had furrowed, and his back had bowed, and the shape of Harry’s name falling from his lips.

Harry had imagined the next time to be slow, special. Soft kisses and lingering touches.

Instead, it was hurried, and somehow distant. Sam’s memory between them as their bodies moved together, and the mattress springs creaked, matching pace with the steady, mechanical clap of skin against skin, and the sound of the wind picking up against the thin walls of the small trailer. But they, both clutching each other in broken desperation, remained silent. 

And after they came, first Nathan, and then Harry, Harry felt more empty than he ever had. Nathan began crying again, and all Harry could do was pull him closer, stroke his back, and wish that things were different.

 

* * *

 

Harry leaned against the cold stone wall of the old church, smoking. The air was cool, getting colder, but it was a climate not unfamiliar to the Brit, and it didn’t bother him.

He tapped the cigarette absently, a bit of ash dropped off the end, broke apart against the toe of his boot.

He brought it to his lips again, one arm across his chest, hand tucked against his ribs.

Breathing in, and slowly out. Thinking of Sam.

_I miss you, mate._

He heard Nathan and Rafe talking, but he wasn’t paying attention. Avery’s treasure didn’t concern him; he was here for Nathan, and that was all. 

That was everything. 

He didn’t like Rafe, he’d decided. Harry could appreciate dedication to the hunt, but he didn’t understand the rush, especially not now. He saw Nathan working hard at helping when he should’ve been taking the time to mourn, and it made him angry. 

He’d been after Nathan every night, working at convincing the younger man to return to England with him.

 

> _“You don’t belong out here, love. Not with that bloke, and certainly not now. Come with me—”_
> 
> _“I can’t, this is…he always wanted this. I have to try. He’d want me to.”_
> 
> _“Oh, bugger that, Nate, Sammy’d want—”_
> 
> _“Don’t._ _Flynn. ...Harry. I can’t. It’s done. I’m staying.”_

So Harry stayed as well.

_I never meant for it to happen like this, Sammy, I hope you’d know that. Wish I’d’ve told you when I had the chance—how much I love him. I’m sorry. He deserves better, I know that, but maybe…maybe I can be better. Maybe I can be enough. Oh, I wish I could talk to you, mate._

And now, more than ever, he knew he couldn’t leave.

He sighed, closing his eyes. He took another deep drag, exhaled, sending the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

Nathan and Rafe stood at what basically served as the command center. A table nearly the length of the room, littered with maps, notes. Harry watched Nathan, saw the differences in him, in how he stood when he spoke to Rafe, his shoulders back now, his jaw firm. He was slowly regaining his confidence, something Harry noticed had weakened significantly since Sam’s death. 

The bits coming back, Harry was pleased to see them. 

Nathan turned, facing Rafe—Harry thought he sounded more exasperated than usual.

“No, we’ve already looked there. We would’ve found something by now. Rafe,  _there’s nothing there_.”

But Harry was only half listening anyway, and he became instead distracted by the hard lines of Nate’s back, easy to see in his gray henley. And he thought of how Nathan’s muscles twitched under his fingertips, how his jaw relaxed as their lips met. Rumpled bedsheets, damp skin, the dusting of hair across Nathan’s chest, and further down. The taste of him—his delicious mouth, his soft skin—exquisite. 

Oh, but he was falling, falling. Already at, and so far past, the point of no return.

Harry noticed when the conversation stopped, and he looked up to see that Nathan was moving past him, leaving Rafe at the table. Harry snuffed his cigarette out on one of the stones that made up the cathedral wall, following close behind.

They walked to Nathan’s trailer in silence, and Nathan quickly disappeared inside. Harry lingered at the door, glancing over his shoulder, half expecting to see Rafe coming after them—Harry knew the billionaire didn’t fancy him at all, and he was a bit surprised the man hadn’t already demanded he leave—but there was no one, and Nathan was calling out to him.

“Harry—”

Harry turned back to the open door, and when Nathan caught his eye through the doorway, that ache, that swell in his heart hit him like a gust of wind; it accelerated the rate of his fall.

Yes, it was too late to walk away, he was in way too deep. 

Harry shut the door behind him, took Nathan into his arms when the smaller man moved closer, tucked himself against Harry’s chest. 

“Harry?”

“Yes, love?”

“Can we…?”

“Yes, love.”

_Fallen, and still falling._

They undressed each other in silence.

_I just hope I bloody well land on my feet this time._

But instead, he landed on his back, on Nathan’s bed. And when Nathan climbed on top of him, straddled Harry’s hips, his movements unsure, Harry took hold of him, showed him the way. 

They moved together, in unison. They rose together, climbing steadily toward climax. Tentative touches became a frenzy of strokes, and Harry groaned as he saw Nathan’s head tip forward, as he felt Nathan’s thighs begin to shake. The younger man faltered, unable to continue at a steady pace.

 “ _Please_ —”

“Here, darlin’. Come on, then.” 

Harry urged Nathan up, guided him onto his back. Nathan dropped his thighs apart as Harry moved over him. 

“Oh—” Nathan uttered a soft cry, almost of surprise, as Harry found his way home again and Nathan let his hands rest high on Harry’s sides.

“That’s it, love—” Harry kept his strokes steady, deep, and he sought just the right angle, judging his success by the way Nathan's brows knit in something that looked like concentration.

Nathan’s hands slid to Harry’s shoulders, his grip tightened, the muscles in his stomach, low in his abs flexed, contracted.

“Yes. Beautiful. You’re—Ah,  _fuck_ —” Harry reached between them, fingers wrapping around Nathan’s cock, thumbing the head and biting his lip at the sharp gasp Nathan let out.

“Harry, I— I’m— gonna—”

“Oh Nathan…”

Nathan’s back bowed slightly, arched up, and Harry continued to stroke his shaft, milking out all he could. The feeling of Nathan, tight, pulsing, the heat he radiated—it sent Harry over as well. He emptied himself inside Nathan, grunting against the sensitive skin at the crook of his neck.

He moved to pull away, pull out, but Nathan only tightened his hold on Harry’s shoulders.

“No. Please—I can’t. Please. Stay, because I can’t—”

Harry frowned, settled on top of Nate. “Alright. Of course, love, whatever you want.”

They fell asleep together, caught in a web of twisted sheets and tangled limbs. 

Harry dreamed of falling, and it felt like flying.


End file.
